The Tig Archives

Spaghetti alla Chitarra

The Tig - May 9th 2014

It was time. I wanted to make homemade pasta, but it scared me. It seemed so complicated — this delicate balance that I would overthink until I went full throttle Tracy Flick (à la Election) and took all of the joy out of the simplicity of it. So I just decided to get over myself, and dive right in. My goal: knead the dough, hand crank the noodles, and make a feast that would impress the likes of Mario Batali.

Now, I don't know Mario Batali. Never met him. But I still wanted to make a pasta that would make him proud. (Something we can revisit on another day.)

So there I was with a bag of caputo flour and a prayer, hoping that I didn't absolutely ruin these grand plans of mine. Deciding on two preparations, and banking on a few tips from a chef, I ventured to make homemade pasta in two variations: Spaghetti alla Chitarra & Cappatelli stuffed with duck confit, braised kale & squash (with a lemon, sage & brown butter sauce & toasted hazelnuts). Let's pause for a second and remember that this was my first attempt at making pasta ever, so I was more than aware that my choices were ambitious. Delusions of grandeur? Perhaps. But my thought was to either go big or go home. And the best part of that equation is that if it really just turned out like a bowl of wet flour with some sad duck, I could just finish my wine and order a pizza.

But it didn't. It was that pasta that transports you to a sunny terrace in Positano, ivy dancing through the wire legs of the table, the lilt of laughter carrying over the slushing sounds of the sea. Where the air smells of bergamot & sunshine, and the world swells around you in a wave of long and lyrical "zaaa"s and the ring of glasses clinking. Where your pasta spins perfectly around your fork, just as the Italian "r" twirls off your tongue. It was that magical unctuous pasta that made this meal not just a dinner, but a stamp in my passport.